_The Ways of the Circus_ is a decidedly readable book, rich in anecdotes
of the life of circus folk and circus animals. The narrator is an old
lion tamer and Harvey W. Root, who has done the actual writing, has
managed to keep a decidedly naive quality in the talk as he sets it
down. There is a delightful chapter, for instance, in which Conklin
tells how he first became a lion tamer. By gradual process of promotion
he had gone as far as an elephant, but his salary was still much lower
than that of Charlie Forepaugh, the lion man. There were three lions
with the circus, but Charlie never worked with more than one in the cage
at the time. Conklin got the notion that an act with all the lions in
action at once would be a sensational success. He was not sure that it
could be done, as he had had no experience with lions. The only way to
find out was to try. Accordingly Conklin sneaked into the menagerie
alone, late at night, to ascertain whether or not lions lay along his
natural bent.
"The animals seemed somewhat surprised at being disturbed in the middle
of the night," he says, "and began to pace rapidly up and down their
cages. I paid no attention to this, but opened the door of each cage in
succession and drove them out. Then I began as sternly as I could to
order them round and give them their cues.
"Except, perhaps, for an unusual amount of snarling, they did as well
for me as for Charlie. I put them through their regular work, which took
fifteen or twenty minutes, drove them back, and fastened them into their
own cages and climbed down on to the floor from the performing cage,
much elated with my success. I had proved to myself that I could handle
lions."
Conklin then goes on to tell how he gave a secret exhibition for the
proprietor of the circus and convinced him of his skill. In fact, the
proprietor promised that he should become the lion tamer of the show as
soon as Charlie Forepaugh's contract ran out. Conklin goes on to say
that he himself was very particular for the sake of safety not to let
Charlie know of this arrangement. And in explaining his timidity, he
writes, "He was a big fellow with a quick temper."
This almost emboldens us to believe the old story of the lion tamer and
his shrewish wife. Coming home late from a party, he feared to enter the
house and so he went to the backyard and crept into the cage with the
lions. There it was that his wife discovered him the next morning,
sleeping with the lions, and she shook her fist and shouted through the
bars, "you coward!"
To be sure as Mr. Conklin tells it there seems to be no great trick in
being a lion tamer. Take, for instance, the familiar stunt in which a
trainer puts his head into a lion's mouth and you will find upon close
survey that it is nothing to worry about. "This never failed to make the
crowd hold its breath, but it was not as risky as it seemed," says
Conklin, "for with my hold on the lion's nose and jowl I could detect
the slightest movement of his muscles and govern my actions
accordingly." Mr. Conklin does not develop the point, but we suppose
that if he detected any intention on the lion's part of closing his
mouth he would take his head out in order to make it easier for the
animal.
Mr. Conklin also corrects a number of misapprehensions about lions which
may be of use to some readers. Contrary to popular belief, you have
nothing to worry about if any of your lions insist on walking up and
down. "A lion that will walk round when you get in the cage with him is
all right, as a general thing," explains Conklin, "but look out for the
one that goes and lies down in a corner."
To be sure, there is something just a little disturbing in the
afterthought indicated in "as a general thing." Our luck is so bad that
we wouldn't feel safe in a cage with a lion even if he ran up and down.
In fact, we would be almost willing to wager that ours would be one of
the unfortunate exceptions which didn't know the rule and so would do
his bit toward providing it.
In another respect the lion tamer is a little more specific about lions
and therefore more helpful. "It is true, though," he adds, "that you
should never let one get behind you if you can help it, though in many
of the acts it is not possible to keep all of them in front of you all
the time." We can understand this advice, though it is not altogether
clear to us just what we would do if a lion tried to get behind us. Of
course, we would tell him not to, but after that we should be somewhat
at a loss. We have never believed in being rough with lions. Probably we
would let him have his way just to avoid argument. As a matter of fact
we would have no great objection to having all our lions behind us if
only we could keep far enough in front.
"A lion that growls frightfully and acts very ferocious when you are
outside the cage may be one of the easiest to handle and get work out of
when once you are actually in the cage; and on the other hand, a lion
that is mean and dangerous to do anything with in the cage may be
exceptionally docile from the outside and allow you to pet him freely."
This should go a long way toward solving the problems of lion tamers.
All you have to do before a performance is to make a test from outside
the cage. Try to pat your lion and pull his ears. If he growls and bites
your hand you will know at once that you may come in and go about your
business with perfect safety. On the other hand, if he meets your
caresses by rolling over on his back and purring it is up to you to call
off the show or send for your understudy.
The unfortunate fate of such a substitute is described by Conklin with
much detail and, we fear, a little relish. The man in question took
Conklin's job when he struck for a raise in salary. Things went well
enough during the first performance until the very end, and then it was
the fault not of the lion but of the substitute, for the trainer was
ignorant of one of the cues which had become a part of the act.
"I had taught George to jump for me as I went out the door," writes
Conklin. "It had been done by blowing on his nose and then jumping back
as you would play with a dog. It always made a great hit with the crowd,
who supposed it had seen a lion try to eat a man and that I had had a
very narrow escape. I worked it this way: After I had finished the rest
of my act I would get George all stirred up and growling. Then I would
fire my pistol two or three times and jump out of the cage as quickly as
I could. At the same time George would give a big lunge and come up
against the door which I had just shut behind me. George had learned the
trick so well that I frequently had to turn on him once or twice and
work him farther back from the door before I dared attempt getting out."
Unfortunately the substitute had missed all this part of the act. He
started out of the cage and George jumped at him and the man was not
prepared to dodge. The moral seems to be that nobody should covet
another man's job, not even that of lion taming.
Some readers we suppose will find Mr. Conklin's lion stories unwelcome
because they may tend to take away their illusions. It is not to be
denied that he has to some extent rubbed the gilt off the gingerbread by
writing that the record for all the lions he has known consists of one
substitute trainer and a cow. His whole attitude toward lions is
contemptuous in its calm and so is the attitude of practically everybody
else in the book with the exception of the cow and the substitute
trainer. Even they suffered a little, at first, from overconfidence.
On the night down in Philadelphia when Wallace, the big lion, escaped
from his cage in winter quarters nobody grew excited. O'Brien, the owner
of the show, did not even get up, but called through the door "Go git
Conklin!" The preparations of the trainer were simple. First he got an
iron bar and then he found the lion and hit him on the end of the nose.
"After a few minutes," he adds, "I had him safely locked in again."
Lions, for all their air of authority, seem to be easily dominated.
They're not so much wicked as weak. Anybody with a little firmness can
twist them around a finger, possibly not the little finger, but any of
the others. It is a great pity that lions should be like that. To be
sure, the information ought not to come as a surprise to anybody who is
familiar with the Bible. The condition we have mentioned has existed for
a long time. As far as we know, Daniel had not so much as an iron bar
when he went into the den. He overawed the lions with nothing more than
faith.
Perhaps it is not quite fair to go on as if lions were the only living
creatures in all the world who are swayed and cowed by firmness and
authority. The same weakness may be found now and then among men. All
too many of us if hit on the nose with iron bars, either real ones or
symbols, do little more than lions in similar circumstances. We may
growl and roar a little, but we do not show resentment in any efficient
way. And like the lions, we are singularly stupid in not making working
alliances with our fellows against the man with the iron bar. By and by
we begin to go through the hoops as if the procedure were inevitable.
Having made a protest we feel that our duty is done.
It is a great pity. Lions ought to know better. The man who stares you
in the eye and squeezes hard in a handshake may come to the bad end
which you wish him, but it is unlikely that he will ever be eaten by
lions. Something else must be devised for him. Even outside the circus
he is likely to go far. Anybody who can shake a little personality can
be ringmaster in this world. And we, all of us who have none, do nothing
about it except to obey him. Camels we can swallow easily enough, but we
strain at the natty dresser.
Still we did manage to find a few bits of information in _The Ways of
the Circus_ which were brand new to us. If, for instance, a rhinoceros
escaped from his cage just what would you do to get him back again? That
is, if he were the sort of rhinoceros you wanted back. At first glance
it seems rather a problem, but any reader of Mr. Conklin's book could
arrange it for you without difficulty. Nothing is needed but carrots and
a stout heart. The carrots you scatter profusely about the floor of the
cage, and when the rhinoceros returns to get them you slam down the
door, and there he is.